Operation: Valhalla
by Captain Suicide
Summary: "Operation: Valhalla. In the final defense of the Fatherland, the Gates of Valhalla shall be opened. From these gates, the fallen warriors of the Fatherland shall return to defend the land once again." This story is listed as a CoD/WWZ crossover, but this is a completely original piece I've been developing in my spare time. Enjoy!


Chapter 00 - Streets

I heard the familiar PING! As my M1 Garand fired its' last bullet. The clip ejected and went over my shoulder as I fumbled for a new clip. Sensing the danger closing, I swung my rifle like Babe Ruth, smashing the creature across its' disfigured butt of the rifle cracked and some splinters went flying as wood met exposed bone, tearing away rotting flesh and fractured bone. The beast fell aside, giving a gargled shriek in its' death throes. Finding a new clip, I rammed it into the receiving chamber and was firing once again. Another assailant fell, then another and another. Within moments, the bodies began piling up in front of me. Sensing that something worse was seconds away, I turned heel just as a literal wave of beasts crowned the pile of bodies, rolling and fumbling their way town as their jagged nails reached out for me, missing me by mere seconds.

Sergeant Bagnon saw me booking it and followed my example. We were dangerously outnumbered sixteen to one, and we needed to leave. As we ran, Corporal Wyatt gave a short burst of his BAR from the hip before turning to run, clutching his rifle like a newborn child. Private Olsen yelled in surprise; A skeletal hand had grabbed the back of his collar. With a look of sheer primal instinct, Olsen reached back and grabbed the offending forearm, throwing the corpse over his shoulder as he proceeded to raise his boot. Bringing the rubber heel down, the beasts' fragile skull didn't stand a chance as it cracked open, splitting like a watermelon being smashed by a sledgehammer. Maintaining the wild look in his eye, Olsen booked it, dropping his Thompson in the process. Igl, the stupid bastard, was carrying a large thirty-caliber heavy machine gun. Mid stride, he turned and ran backwards, firing the weapon from his hip. The rounds tore into the wall of rotting flesh and stained uniforms.

Up ahead of us, a US Army checkpoint stood. While meager in its' appearance, to us it looked like a sign of safety, telling us that beyond this point, we were going to be safe.

"Look!" cried Olsen, throwing a finger forward to draw our attention. More of the beasts milled about the checkpoint.

However, these abominations wore the uniforms of US Army Paratroopers and Rangers, their once youthful faces now gaunt and warped. Their mouths seemed to stretch farther than they normally should as they threw their helmeted heads back, inhumane roars ripping from their gouged throats. Locking their eyes on us, they quickly lurched forward, sprinting at full speed to claim a meal.

"The alley!" I shouted. I made a hard left, signalling for the others to follow. Without protest, we all squeezed our way into the roughly two foot wide gap between the buildings. A beast lunged, trying to grab for Wyatt as he entered the alley. If he were a few seconds slower, Wyatt would have become a bloody buffet for hundreds of ragged mouths. Thankfully, Wyatt is a lanky twig and fit into the alley with no issue. The five of us skirted through the narrow passage, Bagnon nearly tripping over his boots in the process. I craned my head up and looked back to see how much distance we've but between ourselves and the nightmare behind us.

I wish I hadn't.

Through whatever process these poor souls underwent, their bodies had become like loose rubber. They squeezed into the alleyway, seeming to not have a single bone in their body as their skin and meat stretched and compressed against the brick walls. The wave of flesh was rolling over itself. The bodies that could not gain their footing hit the grimy pavement, only to be pulled up and under the continuous wave of bodies.

What disturbed me more was the fact they the wave was _catching_ _up_.

I was the first to emerge from the tight space. Pushing my helmet up from my eyes, my blood ran cold. I was convinced right then and there that I had already died.

A Tiger II sat in the street. Its' camouflage was a two-colored mixed of green and murky yellow, sitting there like a steel barricade, boxing us in for the Grim Reaper. However, this reaper used a eighty-eight millimeter cannon, and it was pointing right at me.

"GET DOWN!" ordered a new voice. Without hesitation, I dropped to my stomach. The sudden drop tripped up Bagnon, and he proceeded to fall on me with the others following suit.

The second Wyatt hit Igls' back, the cannon before us spoke. The world become nothing but a drilling buzzing that filled my ears. Heat washed over us as the heavy shell raced from the cannons' firing chamber, down its' rifled barrel, and into the air. Within seconds, the shell raced down the alley behind us, detonating against the oncoming horde. The explosion blasted apart flesh and building, sealing off the rest of the alleyway behind us.

The new voice came again. "GET ON THE TANK!" it ordered. We all looked at each other. Were we to actually climb on the enemy tank? With no other option, we scrambled to our feet and threw ourselves at the steel machine. I managed to get a decent jump, finding purchase on the side plating that protected the tracks. Hopping onto the engine block, I turned and reached down to help the ones who couldn't jump. Bagnon had to haul Igl up by his arm at the last second before the Private could smash his face into the steel plating. Slamming a fist on the commanders' hatch, the tank shifted gear and began moving forward. We made a perch on the tanks' wide turret, not wanting to get scorched by the exhaust coming from the engine deck. Wariness still clouded us, but we were finally safe. The machine rumbled down the street, the coaxial machine guns mowing down more of the monsters as they filtered into the street before us. For a tank its' size, the Tiger was moving out of the city at a surprising rate.

Soon enough, we entered the German country side. With scarred farmlands on either side of us, we were reminded that this land had once been peaceful and prosperous. But now, through the actions of entire nations, it was beaten and battered. Corpses laid about here and there in the fields and ditches, marking where lives were snuffed out in the name of a lost cause.

Time crawled along, the afternoon soon turning to night. As the sun was starting to dip below the dense forests, the Tiger swung left and climbed a small hill. At the top, a lone building stood. A cobblestone fence surround the building and some smaller structures. I soon realized that this was a simple farm, with a home big enough for a small family. The tank came to a halt and the engine shut down with a fading groan. I was the first to jump off the machine. I turned on my heel to help the others down if they needed it, and soon we were all standing next to the tank, watching the commanders' hatch carefully. There was a click, and the metal slab slid aside. From within the steel beast, a voice came out.

"Can we trust you not to shoot us?" asked a man. We exchanged glances with Bagnon. His eyes held a wary gaze as he returned our looks. Shouldering his Thompson, he spoke up.

"You saved us, so we should at least me able to thank you, right?" Bagnon asks. His voice drops to a whisper only we can hear. _"If they try anything, drop them and we take shelter in the farmhouse."_ he orders. We nod in agreement, shouldering our respective weapons, ready to pull the triggers if need be. The two hatches at the front of the tank flip up and open. Bagnon and Igl turn their attentions to the new development. The rest of us keep our attention on the commanders' hatch. As one, three men emerged from within the tank, their hands raised as they rose.

"Nice and easy now boys! Bagnon orders, training his submachine gun.

"There's no need for those, Sergeant. We are unarmed." says the commander.

"You still have a tank. In my books, you're still armed." Bagnon shot back. The tank commander simply smiles and shrugs a bit.

"I suppose you are correct on that matter." he says as he climbs down from his spot. Soon, three young men stand before us, their hands up at shoulder height. After Wyatt checked them for weapons or documents, Bagnon waves for the Germans to lower their hands.

"W-would either of you have a c-cigarette?" asked one of the men, a young boy no older than eighteen. His face held a look of uncertain nervousness, his eyes darting between the five of us. Olsen digs into his combat pouches and withdraws a dented cigarette carton. After giving the boy a smoke and lighting it for him, the boy seemed to calm down a bit as the nicotine hit his system. Olsen offered the rest of them a cigarette, but the other two kindly declined before Olsen offered us a cigarette. Bagnon took one as well and lit up, drawing on the cigarette before blowing the smoke out.

"Alright, mind telling us your names?" he asks, taking another drag. The commander gestures to himself.

"My name is Erik Schultz. This here," he says, putting a hand on the man next to him. "Is my gunner Harold Reinhardt. The young man there is our driver, Bulbi Hoffman." Schultz says. He looks to Bagnon. "And your names?" he asks.

"Bagnon." said Bagnon, pointing to himself. He then goes down the line. "Olsen, Wyatt, Igl and Charles." he continues, pointing to me last. Another drag, and Bagnon tosses the spent cigarette down before snuffing it with his boot heel. "I suppose... we should tank you for getting us out of there." he adds. Schultz waved a hand.

"Think nothing of it, Sergeant. We happened to be in the right place at the right time. I was not about to see another man, friend or foe, be torn apart by those savages." Schultz said.

"Then you outta know what was going on with your troops, right?" Igl asked. Schultz gives a grim nod.

"Ja." he said simply. Igl raises and eyebrow and gestures for Schultz to elaborate. Looking to his men, Schultz sighs a bit and gestures towards the farmhouse. "We should get inside first, night is approaching fast. Sergeant Bagnon, is it? Would you and your men please come into my home?" Schultz asked. Bagnon blinks simply, looking to us. We give small shrugs, not sure of what to do ourselves.

"Fine. But no funny business, got it?" Bagnon warns.

"I can assure you, sir, that no harm will come to you or your men here." Schultz said, the tone of a promise carrying on his voice. With the three German tankers leading the way, the five of us follow them into the farmhouse.

 _End Chapter Zero._


End file.
